The Danger of Emotions
by Kmacksinclair
Summary: Out of the two of them, who would have guessed it would be John struggling with his emotions
1. Punching Anderson

**_Author's Note: Hello! This is set after the Great Game, but is sort of ignoring the second series for now, so it's set in between. I'm writing a pretty angsty fic at the moment along side this, so I wanted to try something a little lighter!_**

_And it feels like jealousy_

_And it feels like I can't breathe_

_And I'm on, down on my knees_

_And it feels like jealousy._

_Will Young - Jealousy_

John Watson was not a jealous man. He was very aware of this, and considered it a good quality. He always thought possessiveness in a relationship was nothing more than a lack of trust and a lack of self-esteem on the possessive party's side. However, he was very protective. Once a person had made their way into John Watson's life and he wanted them to stay there, he would do anything to protect them. So it was no surprise to him that when Anderson was in a particularly snarky mood (because his wife had kicked him out, if Sherlock was correct, and he usually was) and started on a particularly vicious rant about Sherlock, the only way his body knew to react was to punch him in the face.

After a stern telling off from Lestrade, which had ended with both of them in a fit of giggles after Lestrade ended his rant with 'But he did fucking deserve it', John found himself walking into 221b Baker Street to find his flat mate walking about in his underwear.

In the year (_God, had it really been a whole year_?) that John had been living on Baker Street, he had learnt that there was not much point in questioning why Sherlock Holmes did things. And there was definitely no point in trying to get him to change the things Sherlock Holmes did. Instead the best way to deal with Sherlock Holmes was to simply ignore his strange and sometimes disturbing habits, and try and keep on top of which cartons in the fridge were which so to avoid another 'pigs blood in the tea' incident. So for half an hour John sat at his lap slowly typing up the case which ended with Anderson being punched in the face, not looking up until Sherlock came from behind and swiftly closed John's laptop.

'I hadn't saved that'.

'It's on auto-save.'

'That's not the point'.

Sherlock smirked and picked his long black coat off of his armchair (_Considering how often he wears it and how expensive it is you would think he could be bothered to hang it up_) and with what seemed to be just one big swishing movement he was covered in it, reaching for her scarf on the table.

'I thought you had a date with _Sarah_?'

John sighed, feeling his stomach sink. Sarah was smart, funny, pretty and was somehow able to put up with his rather strange living arrangements, yet every time it came around to 'date night' he started to feel sluggish, and almost always tried to find a way out of it.

'I did, but since we're obviously going out, I'll just re-arrange.'

'Who says we're going out?'

John stopped still in the middle of putting his own coat on just to give Sherlock a look.

'You have your coat on, you don't tend to wear your coat indoors, and you only go off on your own when you're sulking or when I have to work, and you are in as good a mood as you can be in, and I don't have work, so therefor I was left with the assumption that we are going out.'

Sherlock smiled the smallest of smiles, and if you hadn't been looking at that precise moment you would have missed it, however John was always looking.

'Why are you smiling?'

'Your deductions, John, are getting rather good indeed. In this case you are completely wrong, of course, but I am very impressed'.

John was getting confused, and while he should have been used to it by now, he didn't like it.

'So we're not going out?'

'Well, technically we are both going out. You are going on a date with Sarah and I have my own dinner plans for this evening. However, by '_we'_ I assume you meant to ask if we were going out together, and in answer to that question, no, we are not'.

'Dinner plans?' John repeated warily, sure he must had misheard.

'Since when do you have your own dinner plans?'

His scarf now securely round his long neck, the great detective headed for the door, turning to back only to reply to his friend who was now standing in a state that definitely required a shock blanket.

'Now now John, no need to be jealous, I'm not getting another blogger.'

And with the smirk etched on his face, Sherlock Holmes left 221b.

John Watson was not a jealous man. But for the life of him he could not explain why right at this moment he wanted to smash 221b Baker Street to pieces.

_Feedback is always appreciated! _


	2. The Date

**_Author's Note: Wow! Thank you all so much for the Story Favorites and Alerts, they mean so much! Apologies for the few days wait, but I was away with family and as much as I wanted to thought it would be a bit rude to sit in a room and type fan fiction all day! Anyway, hope you enjoy!_**

_But I can't read you_  
><em>I wish I knew what's going through your mind<em>  
><em>Can't touch you, your heart defending I get left behind<em>  
><em>I can't reach you<em>  
><em>I wish I knew what's going through your mind<em>  
><em>Can't touch you, your heart protecting I get left behind<em>  
><em>No no no no no<em>  
><em>No no no no no<em>

_Daniel Bedingfield - I Can't Read You _

Without the excuse of having an insane flatmate's life to save, John Watson found himself on yet another date in which he wasn't all that interested in.

To be completely clear, it was nothing to do with Sarah. While the whole 'It's not you, it's me' was usually a cover for simple disinterest, this was not the case between John and Sarah. John liked Sarah, Sarah liked John. He would walk to her flat, even though his flat was closer to the restaurant, he would smile and laugh at her stories, even if he found them dull, he would always insist on picking up the check, even though she made more money than him, and at the end of the night he would walk her back to her flat, kiss her lightly on the check and/or lips, then wish her a goodnight. And this was fine, it was good. But no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that he cared about the relationship, the utter truth was that he simply didn't.

So John Watson found himself sitting in his favourite Chinese restaurant _('You can always tell a good Chinese place by the lower third of the door handle')_ getting very distracted (_Why was he quoting Sherlock in his head?)_ until John was suddenly pulled back into the conversation by the mention of a certain consulting detective.

'Sorry, did you say something about Sherlock?'

'Honestly John, sometimes it's like you're not even listening! I said isn't that Sherlock over there, sitting in the corner?'

John quickly turned around to be greeted with the sight of Sherlock Holmes, indeed sitting in the corner of the very same restaurant, and seemingly actually eating something. John felt a flush of anger swell over him. (_The bloody prick, pretending he had plans just so he could bloody stalk me!)_

'Right, well, I'd best go say hi.'

'You're not going to invite him over, are you? Just, I know he's on his own and everything, but this is our time…'

John felt his cheeks flush. Surely it wasn't that obvious that he'd have rather spent the evening with Sherlock, was it?

'No, no, of course not. I have a feeling he'll be leaving soon anyway.'

With that the doctor got up and marched straight over to the man in the corner, planning in his head exactly what he was going to say to Sherlock and in exactly what tone ('_You really are unbelievable, Sherlock, you know that! Why couldn't you have just asked to come along with us, if you were so bloody interested!_')

'Hello, Sherlock.'

John made every effort to put as much annoyance into the two words as possible, just to make it absolutely clear that it was not okay to follow your flat mate on a date, even if they didn't really mind (_Why __**didn't**__ he mind?)._

'Oh, John! I assumed you were going to the Indian restaurant tonight, due to the fact…'

'Sherlock don't play innocent, I know exactly why you're here so don't even try to…'

'Excuse me?'

John turned around to be greeted with the sight of the women who had spoken. Definitely not a waitress, no uniform, John noted. He wasn't wearing a uniform, so there was no way she could be mistaking him for staff. He was certain he hadn't met her previously, and she seemed to be a little too old and too sane to be one of the obsessive fans of the blog that would ask for autographs.

'Could you just step aside a little, I need to get into my seat?'

Dazed, John stepped aside only to watch as the woman sat down in the seat opposite Sherlock. His brain told him to ask who she actually was, but somehow it seemed his mouth had forgotten how to speak, forcing him to stand gaping at the pair for a full thirty seconds before either of them acknowledged him again.

'John this is Irene, my date. And could you please close your mouth? I'm not an expert on social situations but I am certain that staring at people with your mouth wide open in not entirely polite.'

John was certain this was what having a stroke felt like. The inability to breath, the numbness, the loss of all logical brain power. All he needed was the smell of burnt toast and he was there. After what felt like eternity, but what must have only been a few seconds, John's brain started functioning again.

'Your date?'

'Yes.'

'You are on a date?'

'Yes.'

'You, Sherlock Holmes, are on an actual _date_?'

'Yes, I am Sherlock Holmes, and again yes, I am on a date. Please stop repeating the question.'

'I'm sorry to be rude, but who exactly are you?'

Suddenly John remembered the presence of the third party in this bizarre situation. (_Irene, was it? What kind of a name is __**Irene**__?)_

'Oh, I'm sorry, I'm John.'

Irene gave John a look that for a moment he did not understand, until the somewhat devastating realisation hit him (_Why was this so devastating?)._ Irene did not have a clue who he was.

'My apologies Irene, this is John Watson, my flatmate.'

Again surprised by his own emotions, John found Sherlock description of 'flatmate' similar to being stabbed in the stomach. Twice.

'Yeah, yeah… flatmate. We were introduced by… Eh, so how did you two meet?'

'Well, if I told you that, Doctor, I'd have to kill you.'

Sherlock laughed from across the table while in the same instance John realised how Irene had actually addressed him.

'Doctor? Oh, so Sherlock did mention me…'

John let a slight smile appear on his face in the realisation that perhaps there was some sort of hope after all (Hope of what exactly?), when Irene shook her head without so much as looking up from her plate.

'Oh, no, he mentioned nothing. But assuming you're between 35 and 38, the wrinkles on your face aren't just a part of the natural aging process, telling me that your job is or was extremely stressful. However it is unlikely that you work in business, as your stress levels would match only those at the very top of corporations, and judging by the fact that you need a flatmate to be able to live in London you make no more than £20,000 per year, if that. So the next highest area of stress levels is the medical sector, and judging by your stance I'm guessing military, so assuming that all my previous guesses were in fact correct, we get previous army doctor who now works as a GP. And I'd also say that you two are much more than flatmates, as Sherly put it, as judging by your flushed cheeks, raised heart rate and overall obvious anger at finding us on a date there is a much stronger emotional attachment than the one which would be formed by simply sharing accommodation. However I seriously doubt you are currently romantically involved due to the fact that you seem to be attempting, very badly I must say, at hiding your anger, and the fact you seem to also be on a date, with the woman sitting in the middle of the room alone, who is most likely your co-worker. So add it all together and we get an ex-military man developing romantic feelings for his male flatmate so in an attempt to ignore these feelings has settled on staying in a relationship that he isn't actually emotionally invested in.'

After what must have been at least five minutes of shock, then another minute of horror (_Dear god there's two of them_), John began to feel offended.

'Wait, what? Emotional attachment, romantic feelings… No, no, look you did somehow manage to get my profession correct but I definitely DO NOT fancy Sherlock Holmes! I'm straight!'

After a shared smirk between the two geniuses, Irene turned to back to the stunned Doctor.

'Oh, I'm sorry John! I do get a bit carried away. Of course you're straight. Why wouldn't you be?'

Feeling flustered, embarrassed and very, very confused John Watson made his excuses, turned around, walked back to his table and three quarters of an hour later found himself sitting on Sarah's couch repeating a certain phrase over and over again in his head.

'_**Of course you're straight. Why wouldn't you be?**_'

**_AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm really enjoying writing this, so hopefully you guys will want more! Apologies for my attempt at a deduction, I am obviously not as brilliant as Sherlock or indeed Irene! I will try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can, and feedback/comments are always extremely helpful and appreciated!_**


	3. Mold in the Tea

For 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday morning, John Watson had far too many emotions to deal with. The first of these was guilt. It was never nice breaking up with someone, but when it was someone as lovely as Sarah it made it all the more difficult.

After spending another night on the couch after some non-discreet yawning from both parties, John had decided there was no point in dragging the girl along anymore, considering it was very unlikely his feelings would change.

She hadn't seemed all that surprised, actually. She smiled and nodded while he explained he just wasn't looking for a relationship right now and that he did care for her and hoped they could be friends. She did however 'wish him luck with everything' as he left her flat a few minutes ago, which brought John to the second emotion it was too early to deal with.

John Watson was also extremely confused.

After finding his 'married to his work' flatmate on a date the night before, he found himself almost completely unable to think about anything else. Of course, he had realised where the initial feelings of anger had come from. Seeing Sherlock on a date he was so obviously enjoying had just reminded him how much he _wasn't_ enjoying his dates with Sarah. The jealousy he had felt had nothing to do with _Irene_, it was solely about the fact they were having an enjoyable evening and he was utterly bored.

As John unlocked the door to 221b Baker Street, after considering the previous night's events, he was half expecting to find his flatmate engaging in a normal activity for a Saturday morning. However, as the other half of him was expecting, the first thing to greet him on his return home was the smell of burning flesh and the sight of the world's only consulting detective examining a microwavable dish with a human thumb steaming away inside it.

"Good morning John."

"I cook beans in that Sherlock."

"And I cook thumbs in it. Problem?"

Hidden behind his groan John Watson smiled the smallest of smiles. He was still Sherlock. He had always been Sherlock. He had been silly to assume that Sherlock did not… _date_. Why wouldn't he? Just because 'girlfriends weren't his area' when they first met did not mean it was impossible them to _become_ his area.

And everything was calm. Until John went to make himself a cup of tea and found not just one, but all bottoms of all the mugs covered in some sort of green substance.

'Sherlock?'

'John?'

'What's this?'

'In the mugs? I'm growing mold. It's an experiment.'

'Could?'

'Yes, mold, didn't you hear me?'

'You grew mold in our mugs?'

'John, you are being incredibly slow this morning. Did you not get enough sleep last night? Maybe you should lie down.'

John was angry now.

'No, Sherlock, I do not need a lie down, what I need is a flat mate who doesn't grow mold in mugs or microwave thumbs! You are unbelievable, you know that? Un-BLOODY-believable-

'-John-'

'No, Sherlock, no! You are not talking yourself out of this one! You…'

'John, please-'

'…and your high IQ and your government brother and your fancy vocabulary and your non-sleeping and-'

'John, you are being very loud and in turn very rude, so if you wish to continue this ran I suggest you do it at a lower volume'.

And John was confused again.

'What? Loud? Rude? You, as always, are very much awake and Mrs Hudson is already at the market…'

'Correct, however I do believe Irene is still very much asleep in my room and I'm sure your current volume is very much enough for you to wake her and considering you are always the one nagging me about social niceties I believe…'

'Sorry to interrupt, boys, but I really must dash.'

There she was. The women from last night, in the very same dress carrying the very same smirk, striding towards their front door as if she'd been there a thousand times.

'Thanks for the lovely evening, Sherly. Nice to see you again, _Doctor_. Have a lovely day'

And with that, the woman was gone, leaving behind only a thumb-engrossed detective and a very disgruntled Doctor in her wake.

_Author's Note: Firstly, I am so sorry about the wait! I had a serious case of writers block with this chapter, so hopefully now this is out the updates will be a lot more frequent! Thank you all for the reviews and interest in the story!_

_I also wanted to mention this is my head-canon of Irene Adler, so her story line will not follow that of the show, however I am taking a large part of her personality from the version of Irene in the show._


End file.
